


there's still time to change the road you're on

by Duck_Life



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Closure, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Family, Fix-It, Gen, Heaven, Love Confessions, M/M, Married Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Reunited in Heaven, Sam asks Dean why he hasn't gotten in touch with Cas yet. Title from Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven."
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 214





	there's still time to change the road you're on

**Author's Note:**

> Returning to my roots for one last Fix-It fic.

“So what got you?” Dean asks, pulling a couple of beers out of the trunk. He opens them and passes one to Sam before walking around the car to lean on the hood. “Vampire? Skinwalker?” 

“Pancreatic cancer. I was 78.” Dean bursts out laughing. “Dude.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Dean says, still laughing. “No, it’s just… getting old and dying like that, it’s a little anticlimactic, huh?” 

“Big words coming from the guy who got iced by a rusty nail.”

“You got me. You got me.” 

Sam joins him against the Impala, stares out at the too-perfect skyline. “You know what?” he says. “Chuck would’ve hated them. Both of our deaths.”

“Amen.” Dean clinks his bottle against Sam’s. “Like Captain Kirk dying from falling off a friggin’ bridge.” 

“Spoilers, man.”

“Forty years down there without me and you didn’t manage to catch  _ Generations _ ? That’s it, we’re sitting you down for a marathon once we get back to the Roadhouse—”

“The Roadhouse?” Sam says, glancing up. 

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah, Jack really fixed this place up. Bobby and everyone, they’re all together and happy. And we can see them… really them, not just memories.” He turns his gaze to the trees, where the always-setting sun casts a pale orange glow. “Oh, and Cas got out.”

“Wait,  _ what _ ?” Sam says. “He got out of the Empty? He’s okay?” 

“Yeah, I mean, apparently.”

“Well, did you— I mean, how’s he doing?  _ What’s _ he been doing? Man, I’ve missed him so much,” Sam rambles, looking over his shoulder as though Cas might be crouched behind the car to surprise him. 

Dean shrugs, making a concentrated effort not to look at him. “I dunno,” he says. “Haven’t actually had a chance to catch up with him yet.”

“A chance to catch up with… ? It’s been 40 years,” Sam points out. “Are you serious? Wait, Cas has been out this whole time and you haven’t even seen him?” Disbelief mingles with something that might be genuine anger. 

“I’ve… I dunno, I’ve been busy,” Dean shrugs again. 

“Doing  _ what _ ? Watching fireworks?”

“I’ve just kinda been. Driving, okay?” Dean says, finally looking at him. It occurs to Sam suddenly that he’s older than Dean now. Doesn’t look it, not up here, but he is. He’s fresh off a nearly 80-year stint of being human. (Not to mention decades in Lucifer’s Cage, but he tries not to factor that time in.) 

And right now his big brother looks so goddamn young. 

“Dean,” Sam says, “how long have you been driving?” 

“Not sure.” Dean stares into his beer. “Clock doesn’t work. And the tape I’ve been listening to doesn’t actually have a B side, you know that? Just keeps going. On and on, forever.”

“Dean.” 

“Mm?”

“You’ve just been… what? Just driving, alone, for 40 years?” 

“Didn’t feel like 40 years,” Dean says, and Sam remembers another talk on the side of another road, Dean with tears sliding down his face as he recounts his time torturing souls in hell. “Time’s different here. You don’t really notice it— don’t get tired, don’t get hungry.” 

“Don’t get lonely?” Sam guesses. Dean doesn’t respond. “Alright. Fuck this. Let’s go see Cas.” 

“Sammy—”

“No,” Sam says, finishing his beer and tossing the empty bottle in the trunk. “He’s my friend, I haven’t seen him in a really long time, and I just  _ died _ so I think I get whatever I want right now. And I want to see Cas. I don’t really care whatever hangup you’ve got going on. Let’s go. C’mon.” 

“Sammy,” Dean tries again, but Sam’s already sliding into the passenger seat. He glares through the windshield expectantly. Dean groans and then pours the rest of his beer out on the side of the road before tossing the empty bottle over the bridge. “Fine.”

“You shouldn’t litter.”

“It’s Heaven. I’m pretty sure the glass just poofs out of existence when it hits the river.” The engine roars to life, and Dean turns the car around.

Dean was right. The cassette in the tape player doesn’t actually have a B side, just keeps playing Kansas and Zeppelin’s greatest hits, one right after the other. After a while, Sam realizes that if he wants to hear a certain song, he can just… think it, and it starts playing. Like a psychic jukebox. 

Halfway through Supertramp’s “Take the Long Way Home,” Sam says, “Are you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Why you’ve been avoiding your best friend for decades.” 

“It’s Heaven,” Dean says. “Time works different. We’re gonna be here for eternity, I guess, so I’m pretty sure you can ghost your friends for forty years and have it be okay.” 

“Didn’t you  _ miss _ him?” 

“Maybe I wanted  _ you _ to be the first person I saw here, okay?” 

“You said  _ Bobby _ was the first person you saw.”

“Okay, fine, maybe I wanted you to be the  _ second _ person I saw,” Dean grumbles.

“Aww. That’s so sweet. Cut the crap,” Sam says. “Like you said, we’re here for eternity. So I can pester you about this until the end of time. Why didn’t you want to see Cas? Dean. Dean. Deeeean. Why didn’t you want to see Cas?” 

“You’ve gotten way more annoying in your old age.” 

“You’re seriously not gonna tell me?”

Dean grits his teeth and stares at the road ahead. “Kept waiting to be ready for it,” Dean says. “Kept waiting, and I’m still not. But. Guess we’re never really  _ ready _ for anything, huh?” 

And Sam’s not sure if he’s talking about seeing Cas… or about dying. 

The road takes them to a peaceful-looking cottage overlooking a lake. No white picket fence— no fence at all— but there are rose bushes and window boxes full of flowers. The front door looks like it’s been freshly painted, and Sam gets the feeling that it will always look that way, forever. 

When Cas opens the door, Sam immediately pulls him into a bear hug. The decades fall away as Castiel wraps his arms around Sam's back. "I missed you, man."

"I missed you as well, Sam," Cas assures him. And then Sam spots Jack standing to the side and, not giving Dean another chance to run away, passes Cas to him so he can hug the boy. 

Dean clutches Cas close to him, thinking suddenly of how few people in human history have had the chance to hug an angel. How fewer still have been able to hug  _ Cas _ , his halting, awkward sincerity, the solid feel of his old trenchcoat. 

"Cas," Dean starts, "I'm sorry—"

"Shh." Cas rocks side to side a little, and when he tries to let go Dean pulls him closer, trying to replace his last memory of Cas with this moment right here. 

When Dean does finally pull away to say hi to Jack, he makes a valiant effort to conceal the way his eyes are shining. 

The four of them, their little family, talk about the years between them, the time spent on Earth and in Heaven. Jack explains what he and Cas have done to reform Heaven, and the way he smiles at Dean and Sam’s praise just shows that even God himself isn’t immune to wanting to make his family proud of him. 

Sam’s wallet is full of photos of his son and Eileen, a little lifetime packaged in plastic picture inserts. Jack passes around a few beers. It feels like they talk for hours, but the light pouring through the windows never changes. In the distance, a flock of geese land on the water. 

Eventually, Sam stands and nods toward the door. “Let’s take a walk,” he says, a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Want to tell you about my son… my other son.” And he and Jack walk outside, leaving Cas and Dean alone. 

Dean watches them through the window. “Are they— ?”

“I believe Sam is trying to give us a moment alone.”

“Right. Great.” 

“Dean, I’m not here to argue with you or make you feel uncomfortable,” Cas sighs. “I do know why I haven’t seen you before now.” 

“Listen, I’m just…” Dean sighs. “The last time I saw you, and you told me… what you told me… and then you  _ died _ . I just… I’m still working through it. I’m sorry it’s taking me too long, but… but I still think it’ll take a little longer before I can talk about it. And I…” He groans, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, okay? You’d think after a guy  _ died _ he’d be a little better adjusted… and I know, I know you deserve better—”

“Dean, it’s okay,” Cas says. “I do love you. And I can keep saying it until you’re ready to hear it. I’ve made my peace with waiting.” How long? Time doesn’t mean anything anymore, except when it does. How long has Cas been sitting here in this idyllic cottage, watering flowers and waiting for Dean to stop running away? “But that’s not why you’ve been avoiding me.” 

“It’s not?” 

Cas shakes his head, smiling sadly. “It’s not.” 

It’s like missing a step on the stairs. Dean’s mind stutters, and all he can think to do is let the irritation creep back into his voice. “Right, okay, so since you know me so much better than I know me,  _ why _ have I been avoiding you? What’s the real reason?” 

“Are you sure you want to know?” 

“Lay it on me, Cas,” Dean says. “If it’s not… if it’s not just run-of-the-mill emotional constipation? Then I don’t know.”

“You’re angry.”

“I am  _ not _ angry with you,” Dean says, though his tone and stance might suggest otherwise. He sighs, tries to settle. “Cas, I’m not angry. What you told me… it, ah, it took guts. It meant a lot to me, honestly. I wouldn’t be mad at you for that.”

“You’re not angry at me,” Cas explains gently. “But you are angry. And you knew that I would let you be angry.” 

“Over  _ what _ ?”

“Over how it all went down,” Cas says. “Vampires. A rusty nail through the back, in an abandoned barn? Cold and scared and far too young?”

“I’m… I’m over it,” Dean says, though something in his chest twinges. A phantom pain. The muscle memory of his last moments alive. “Look, I always knew I was gonna die on a hunt.”

“But you deserved more,” Cas says. “You deserved to grow old. You deserved a picket fence and a peaceful death, you deserved to live a full life. You deserved to fall in love. You deserved to be safe and happy for so much longer than you got. And more importantly, you  _ wanted _ those things.” 

“Cas.” Dean passes a hand over his mouth, jaw clenched. Something in him itches, like he’s looking for an escape route. “Look, it’s… It’s over now. And how can I be mad? You and Jack cooked up this beautiful little slice of Heaven.”

“And that’s what you’ve been telling yourself since you got here,” Cas says. “But I’m telling you now… you  _ can _ be mad. You’re allowed to be mad. You’re allowed to be jealous that Sam got a life and a family and you didn’t.”

“C’mon, man—”

“Sam and Jack aren’t here right now,” Cas reminds him. “It’s just you and me. And we’ve always been honest with each other.” Dean snorts, and Cas smiles a little ruefully. “Okay, maybe not always. But I’m being honest with you right now— you have the right to be angry. This kind of afterlife… it’s beautiful, yes. But it would have waited for you. Forty, sixty years. You could have lived a life. And it’s okay for you to be sad and angry about the way you died.”

“I…” Dean sighs and turns to the window. He can see Sam and Jack standing far away, their backs to the house. He can tell, even from here, that Sam’s doing his proud dad/wistful old man bit, sharing with Jack all the details about marrying Eileen, raising his son, getting old and boring in his comfortable home. And— 

“I wanted it,” Dean says. He feels the tears reach his chin before he realizes he’s started crying. “I wanted to— I had this dog, you know?” he says, turning to smile at Cas even as the tears come faster. “He was the  _ best _ , y’know? Ate food right out of my hand, slept in my bed with me. He was such a sweetheart, and I… I wanted more time with the fucking dog, alright? 

I wanted to go a whole year without thinking about the end of the world. I wanted to give the mechanic thing a go, y’know, I had this job application all filled out… I wanted to do dumb shit with Other Charlie and eat bad gas station food and go to Sam and Eileen’s wedding and, hell, I wanted to see my nephew grow up. I  _ wanted _ all that. And I wanted you to be there for it. And I wanted it to last longer.”

Mingled relief and fury course through him. Saying it all out loud is embarrassing, still feels like whining, but then there’s Cas looking at him with nothing but respect and understanding. “Did… did I not deserve all that?”

“You deserved that and more,” Cas says with conviction. “I wish I could have given it to you. I just tried to give you a soft place to land.”

“This place,” Dean says, still crying, suddenly feeling self-conscious and ungrateful. “It’s amazing.” 

“It’s not Earth, though. It’s not living. It’s a consolation prize, and I… I just wish I could give you more.” 

And Dean doesn’t say,  _ It’s fine _ , or  _ This is more than enough _ or  _ I’ll be okay, I’m always okay _ . He looks at his best friend, at his… someone that could be something, if he lets himself have it, if he stops running. He looks at Cas. He says, “Thank you.” 

  
  


Years pass, or perhaps days. Nobody gets older, and no one gets bored. As soon as you can even think to miss somebody, they're right there beside you. 

Sam and Dean have dinner with their parents and introduce John and Jack. The Roadhouse fills with love and laughter, and the beer taps never run dry. 

Ellen and Mary hit it off. Dean finds himself moderating good-natured arguments between Rufus and Bobby. Charlie, the original Charlie, shows up and Sam not-so-surreptitiously nudges her toward Jo. 

Dean sits on the front porch of the Roadhouse enjoying a beer while Cas sits beside him drinking some pretentious craft IPA that just appeared in the cooler one day. "You said I changed you," Dean says. "Well, you changed me. You… loving me… has changed me. But see… when I love people, I tend to change them for the worst."

"Dean—"

"You don't… You told me that you loved me," Dean says, "and then you got sucked into the Empty.  _ Because  _ you loved me. Loving me is what did that to you."

"My deal with the Empty is what 'did that' to me," Cas says. 

"Me loving people… it doesn't usually work out well. For anyone involved."

Cas leans closer to him, the shadow of a smile on his face. "Dean," he says. "We're already dead. What's the worst that could happen?"

  
  
  


From the front steps of Cas’s cottage, Dean watches the angel raking leaves. There are words buried in his chest, burning through him and finally ready to come out. He’s just not sure he’s ready to let them. 

Dean sits down, stands back up. He paces around like a dog that won't settle. "There's this episode of  _ Star Trek _ ," he says. "Dr. Crusher falls for an alien dude, and she finds out he's basically a worm in a person suit. Still loves him. But he has to get, uh, transplanted and then at the end of the episode… Well, basically, his new meatsuit is a woman."

"That must have been a difficult transition for the doctor." Cas looks like he doesn't give a shit about  _ Star Trek _ but he wants to know Dean's point. 

"She couldn't handle it," Dean says. "Her boyfriend is suddenly this hot chick with forehead ridges and Crusher's like, 'I'm sorry, but humans can't deal with this' and she says goodbye. And I was always like… like, why does that matter? It's the same person, just in a different body. Why are you hung up about what body your alien boyfriend is in?" He sighs. "And then I met you."

"I'm not a worm, Dean."

"No, you're not," Dean says. "But you're not exactly a man either. You're an angel. You're this… this glowing ball of light and energy and love, and you just happened to end up in the body of a broody guy in a trenchcoat." 

"I could say the same about you. Minus the trenchcoat," Cas says. "I've held your soul. We're all just… balls of light."

"Yeah, okay, whatever, I'm just… I am going somewhere with this."

Cas nods. "I'll try to be patient."

"Okay." Dean does another lap around the yard, nervous energy radiating off of him like a Geiger counter. "Look. You look like a guy. You've got… whatever. But you're not  _ really _ a guy, so if I wanted… if I were to… Cas, if you and I were to spread out a picnic blanket and watch the sun go down while listening to Kate Bush on a tape deck and, I dunno,  _ kiss _ … it wouldn't technically be gay." 

Cas tilts his head to the side, brow wrinkled. He looks fucking adorable. "I… suppose not."

"Right? Okay." Dean sighs, dragging his hands through his hair and down over his face. "See, now I could friggin'... accept that, make my peace with that, whatever. Yeah?"

"... Yeah."

"Yeah," Dean says. "Except… except I've… looked. At other guys. There was this siren… and, and every now and then I'd just. Notice people. Men."

"Are you attempting to make me jealous?" Cas says. "It's working. For the record."

"No, I'm not— shit, why is this so hard? Cas, I'm trying to explain why I'm having so much trouble… dealing. With all this."

"Internalized homophobia is very prominent in the United States, especially among men who view it as a threat to their masculinity."

"I'm not gay."

"Okay," Cas says. "I am. I think. I told Jack. He was very proud of me."

Dean grins. "A billion asshole Bible thumpers just lost their biggest argument." Cas smiles at that. "Cas. Castiel… Cas. Can I kiss you?"

Cas studies him, almost as if he's waiting for the punchline. Then he says, "No, not… not if you're just doing it to make me feel better."

"I'm not," Dean says quickly. "I'm… truth is, I think I've wanted to do it since that day in the barn."

"Oh," Cas says, warming as he draws closer. "Then yes. Please." 

For the first time, Dean actually understands why demons like to seal their contracts with a kiss. Deals require precise language and transparency— and there's nothing in the world more honest than a kiss. 

Kissing Castiel is like wiping away the condensation on a fogged window, letting through the bright and vibrant world beyond the glass. Everything suddenly seems so clear. 

Dean steps back with a huge smile on his face. "Well, now… Now I'm pissed because we could've been doing that the whole damn time." 

"We have forever," Cas reminds him. 

"I, um." Dean's smile falters. "Cas, I don't know what the hell I'm doing when it comes to dating  _ women _ . And this, you and me… it's brand-new territory. I'm not gonna lie to you, I can't pretend that I'm suddenly all well-adjusted now that I'm dead. I'm nervous. I'm not sure what's gonna happen next… I don't know what  _ I'm  _ gonna do, or what I'm gonna be like in ten years, fifty years, an eternity… a literal friggin' eternity. But… I do love you. Yeah. I love you, Cas." 

"Oh," Cas says, and he smiles, and he places over a hand over his chest. "Oh, that… that feels nice." 

Dean smiles back, radiant. And then… “So. What do we do now?” 

“Julia Child.”

“J— the chef?” Dean says. 

“Yes. She owns a restaurant up here,” Cas explains. “Still sharing her amazing talents with all the souls in Heaven… and she makes the best lemon meringue pie you’ve ever had.” 

“Oh, man.” Autumn leaves lay forgotten at their feet. Dean pulls Cas close, feeling impossibly light. “I really  _ do _ love you.” 

  
  



End file.
